A Slightly Different Journey
by Navy Babe
Summary: On the way to the cemetery, the carriage crashes, leaving Christine and Erik stranded together in the woods.  Will time alone change their fated course or just speed it towards a tragic conclusion?  Movie/Musical based.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera and all related characters do not belong to me. I'm just using their likenesses for my own, and hopefully others', amusement.

Author's Notes: Back again! This turned out to be a lot longer than I was planning, but I'm quite pleased with the way that it turned out. Hope that you enjoy and please remember to review! I love hearing what you guys think! The story is mostly movie based, but takes the musical timeline into account, meaning that Christine knows about the plan to trap the Phantom.

* * *

Christine was in a world of her own, Erik noticed as he glanced back at her. Her precious God above was the only one who could see inside her head now. Suddenly, he heard a loud crack and looked ahead to see a tree branch falling, right into the path of the carriage. He tried to get the horses to turn, but they had been spooked by the noise and were out of control. Turning sharply, the horses broke free and left the carriage teetering precariously. Erik was thrown from his seat and he managed to twist around on the ground, watching in horror as the carriage fell and the figure of Christine disappeared. Despite everything that had happened in the last six months, his heart stopped as Christine vanished underneath the carriage and his only thought was to get to her. She had to be alive. She had to be. He would accept no other outcome.

He ran over to the carriage, lifting it up with an inhuman surge of strength. She looked so fragile, lying on the ground, her cloak spread out beneath her and a trail of blood marring the perfect skin of her forehead. Kneeling beside her, he held his breath, leaning down and placing his ear to her chest, desperately searching for a heartbeat.

His own heart started beating again once he picked up her own rhythm, a bit faster than normal, but strong. Leaning back, he was shocked to see her eyes flutter open. Realizing too late that the charade was up, he saw the recognition dawn in her eyes briefly before they fell closed once more, slipping into an unconscious state.

He had a small cottage nearby, he'd often stay out there while composing or as a hiding place if Christine were to need him while visiting her father's grave. He used to think that she would enjoy staying there every now and then once they were married, being so close to the cemetery and to her beloved father. Those foolish hopes were all but dashed now, but it could perhaps still serve a purpose.

Picking her up carefully, cradling her like a child, he made his way through the forest towards the once familiar cottage. Unlocking the door proved to be quite a difficulty with Christine in his arms, but he managed. The interior was musty from about eight months of disuse, but it would do. He quickly laid Christine on the bed and left for a moment to get some snow from outside, intending on melting it on the stove and tending to Christine's wounds.

He had managed to read through various volumes of medical texts over the years and from the remembered knowledge, he had concluded that her injuries were not serious and that she should be fine within a few days, although head injuries were tricky. He wouldn't know for certain until she woke up. And she _would_ wake up.

As he put the snow on the stove to boil and started a fire in the fireplace, he took note of the fact that Christine's colour had actually worsened in the short amount of time that he had been gone. He cursed himself for not noticing the fact that her clothes were soaking wet, she surely would catch cold if she were to stay in them. As gently as he could, he lifted her up and began undressing her. His fingers were slightly numb from the cold and his hands were shaking uncontrollably at the close proximity to her. But he knew he had to stay focused, for Christine's sake.

He soon had her stripped of her cloak and dress, taking care to rid her of that infernal corset as well. Hoping in vain that her undergarments would be fine, his hands shook as they gripped the thin material of her shift only to find that that was soaked as well. He quickly stripped her of everything, taking pains not to gaze at her naked figure before placing her underneath the covers, tucking her in securely, both for her health and his peace of mind. The cottage was now suitably warm and he hoped that he had acted quickly enough as to stave off sickness.

Moving to the stove, he moved the pot of water off, allowing it to cool before moving it to a table near the bed. Sitting beside Christine, he dipped his handkerchief into the water and carefully cleaned the cut on her forehead, breathing a sigh of relief when it was revealed to be quite shallow and already healing.

He moved away from her side to go and place her clothes in front of the fire, hoping to have them dry by the time that she woke up. If not, he knew that he had an armoire of spare clothes here for her, just in case she was to ever need them. There was nothing to do now, except wait for Christine to wake.

Erik sighed and sat down heavily in a chair across from the bed, picking up a book that was resting on the nearby table. His mind could scarcely focus on the words in front of him though, as he contemplated what her reaction to their current situation would be.

* * *

As Christine slowly became aware again, her first thought was how comfortable the bed that she was in was. She snuggled deeper into the covers, taking full advantage of the lovely feeling of the soft cotton sheets against her...bare skin. Her eyes shot open and she quickly peeked beneath the covers, confirming with her eyes what the rest of her body already knew. She was naked in this strange and ridiculously comfortable bed. A flush overtook her entire body as she pulled the covers up to her chin and quickly looked around.

Her vision swam slightly and she tried to remember what had led up to this moment. She had been unable to sleep and had decided to go to visit her father's grave...but she had never made it there. The carriage had overturned and..._he_ had been there. Her eyes opened again, slowly this time, as she scanned the room she was in, hoping that her suspicions weren't true.

But there he was. In a chair, situated right across the room from her, seemingly asleep, with a book on his chest. She couldn't help the gasp that emanated from her, which startled him into waking. His eyes were instantly alert and she cowered underneath the sheets, paling with the realization that he was the one who had brought her here...that he had been the one to strip her of her clothing and place her in this bed.

He straightened in the chair but stayed in place and she tightly gripped the sheets, watching him warily. Surely he wouldn't have...she thought to herself, remembering the way that he had looked at her the first night that he had brought her down to his home. But then she shook her head slightly, banishing the thoughts. He wouldn't. Not to her, not without her consent. Others might have thought him a monster, but he would never be one towards her.

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, before Christine worked up the courage to speak. "What...what has happened? Where am I?" She wished that her voice didn't tremble so, that her questions weren't coloured by distrust.

"In a cottage near the cemetery. I own it. A branch fell in the woods and spooked the horses, they ran and the carriage tipped over. You were injured. I carried you here." He obviously took great care as he spoke, not moving an inch from his position in the chair; his voice was calm and measured. She felt like he was taming a wild animal, trying not to frighten her away.

"And...where are my clothes?" she asked timidly.

A flash of something...amusement perhaps, flashed in his eyes and Christine almost smiled. "They are over by the fire, drying. You were soaked to the skin, Christine; I didn't want you to catch cold. I apologize for my forward behaviour, but you must understand that I only had your health in mind. I took no liberties." He bowed his head slightly and this time she did manage a small grin.

"I know." His head moved up once more and his gaze locked with hers. She clutched tightly at the sheets and tried to sit up. But her attempts were thwarted as the room suddenly began to spin and she fell back against the pillows. Her angel was immediately by her side, his hand reaching out as if to brush her cheek before he retracted it.

"You hit your head quite hard when the carriage fell, Christine. You mustn't try and move quickly."

She moaned slightly and opened her eyes slowly. "I realize that now." He was so close now, closer than he had been when she had seen him the last time, at the Bal Masque. If she were to take her hand out from underneath the covers, she could touch him. But she didn't. "The driver?"

He looked down, away from her inquisitive gaze. "I knocked him out. He still lives, Christine, do not fear. I just...I had to see you one more time, without that meddling Vicomte interfering. But yet again, the best laid plans..." he trailed off.

Her hand snuck out from underneath the covers and she gently laid it across his. He looked down at her in shock; she had never initiated physical contact with him before, other than right before she had unmasked him. She had touched his face so lovingly and then betrayed his trust in the worst possible way. But now...her hand was so innocently lying on top of his and her gaze had such warmth in it... "Thank you, An-" she stopped herself suddenly and her lips quirked up. Her brow furrowed and she bit her bottom lip slightly before glancing up at him curiously. "What is your name? It seems quite odd to be calling a flesh and blood man 'Angel'."

He chuckled slightly and looked down to where her hand still rested on top of his, savouring the sensation. "Erik. Your fallen angel's name is Erik."

Her face brightened and she grinned up at him unexpectedly and he found himself returning the gesture. "That's a Swedish name!" Her face crumpled slightly and she shook her head carefully. "What a perfectly daft thing to say, Christine," she murmured to herself. He smirked as she shook her head.

It was suddenly as if she remembered the fact that she had nothing on underneath the covers and quickly withdrew her hand, tugging the blankets up around her chin again. She looked up at him shyly, "Erik...do you think that there's anything dry here that I could wear? It would put me more at ease."

Erik nodded, trying not to mourn her touch, and got up, going to the small armoire in the corner of the room. Christine didn't dare move again until she was fully dressed, but she tried craning her neck to see what Erik was pulling out. Sighing, she gave up and relaxed into the soft comfort of the bed once more. She could definitely tell that this place was Erik's, he had only the finest of things and the bed was the most comfortable place she had ever been in her life. For a man who lived in the fifth cellar of an operahouse, he had exquisite taste.

He returned to her and she managed to lift her head slightly to appraise his selection. Laying down the outfit, she took in the simple navy blue dress, probably made of wool, and all the appropriate undergarments...save one. She glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow. "No corset, Erik?"

He smirked slightly. "You know how much I hate those infernal things, Christine. Something that inhibits your breathing so much cannot be good for your voice or your health. I have none here and the one that you came in is not yet dry. Apologies." But Christine could tell from his expression that he wasn't in the least bit sorry. Honestly, the last thing that she wanted at that moment was to strap herself into a corset, so she supposed it was all for the best.

"Thank you, Erik," she said softly. Blushing, she looked down, not able to possibly meet his gaze. "Could you...could you turn around, Erik? Give me some privacy while I change?"

He nodded slightly and moved to turn, but suddenly faced her again. "I will keep my back turned as long as you promise to move slowly, Christine. It won't do to have you falling over and hitting your head again."

She grinned and nodded, sighing with relief as he moved to the other side of the room and turned around. Staying right where she was for a few moments more to insure that he didn't move, she finally began to sit up, slowly, just as he had requested and let the sheets fall down her nude body. She took much longer than normal to dress, taking great pains to go slowly so she wouldn't accidentally injure herself, just as he had requested.


	2. Chapter 2

Author Notes: Erik is...very polite in this story, thus far. Some might say too polite. But at this point in their relationship and especially in my story, I believe that Erik is desperately balancing on a tightrope, trying to win Christine back and trying not to frighten her; so he ends up being overly cautious. I think that their relationship is at its most fragile point at this moment, and I wanted the way that Christine and Erik walk on eggshells around each other to reflect that. For this chapter at least, next chapter things will change a little bit!

Also, in regards to their conversation about tea in this chapter, I always like to think that Erik and Christine had at least a little bit more time to get to know each other as people. So I guess it's a bit Kay/Leroux-esqe, but I like to imagine they had at least a few lessons after the initial face to face meeting, where she went to his home and spent time with him. Or if you don't like that, you could always imagine that one day Christine asked her Angel how he took his tea and Erik responded.

* * *

He was being so...calm. At this moment, he reminded her so much of her friend, her Angel. The man standing in the corner with his back turned to her could not possibly be the same man who murdered Joseph Buquet, could not possibly be the same man who had flown into such a rage after she...after she had betrayed his trust by removing his mask. She finished dressing, silently thanking the fact that he had chosen a dress with a tie instead of one with buttons. It was surely just as much for her comfort as for his, for if she had needed assistance dressing...She shook her head softly, unwilling to continue with that train of thought. "Erik," she called out, "you can turn around now."

He turned, but stayed where he was, taking in her beauty for a moment. She nervously slid her hands down over the skirt. "It's a beautiful dress. It fits perfectly." The fact that it _did_ fit perfectly was a bit worrisome, as Christine knew that she had never given her Angel of Music her measurements. But Erik was a genius...perhaps he just had a very precise eye.

Dipping his head slightly, he took a few steps towards her. "I kept a few dresses for you here, in case you were to ever visit. I never quite got around to bringing you here though." She just nodded silently, not quite knowing what to say. Erik could sense that Christine was growing uncomfortable so he quickly changed the subject. "Would you like some tea, Christine? I'm afraid that I have no milk, but we do have usable sugar."

She nodded again and he turned around, heading for the stove. "What about lemon?" Christine asked quietly as she followed him.

Turning his head to glance back at her, he quirked up his visible eyebrow. "You don't like lemon in your tea."

She shrugged, moving to sit down in a chair at the table, closer to the stove. "No, but you do."

He chuckled and turned back to his task at hand. "I will just have to make do with sugar."

Christine nodded and looked out the window, at the swirling whiteness of the snowstorm. "It's quite the storm. Do you have provisions here, Erik?" She hadn't thought of it before, but the cottage smelled awfully musty, as if it had been out of use for quite some time. The table had a fine layer of dust on it as well, now that she was looking.

He nodded, not turning away from the tea kettle, which was now whistling. "I employ a man to take care of the cottage while I am not here. There should be enough food down in the cellars for a few days at least, although I do not expect the storm to last that long. We should be able to return to the operahouse in a day or two."

"Raoul must be worried sick," she murmured to herself, forgetting that Erik's hearing was sharper than most.

"Oh yes, I'm sure that your precious Vicomte has been out looking for you. But he won't find us here." He practically snarled as he said Raoul's title and his voice had a bit of an ominous edge to it that caused Christine to look up at him in alarm. "He would have found the carriage overturned, but the storm took a turn for the worst shortly after we arrived here. My footprints would have been covered and without them there is no way that he would find us here. We are quite hidden away, Christine." Her eyes widened slightly and Erik realized too late that what he had just said sounded far too much like a threat. He set a saucer down in front of her and took a seat across from her, putting his own down, taking a breath to compose himself. "If he has any sense in that pretty head of his, which I do question, he will have already turned back for the operahouse."

Christine took a sip of her tea and glanced up at him, biting her lip. "Erik...you will...let me go back to the operahouse, won't you? Once this storm has passed?"

He resisted the urge to laugh, certain that the smallest of gestures would send Christine cowering once more. He was, after all, the fearsome Opera Ghost, although she had never made that distinction until that wretched boy had come along. "I will have to, Christine, if I wish to see my opera performed. You are the only one who could possibly do Aminta justice. I wrote her with you in mind."

She smiled softly, taking another sip of her tea. "It is a beautiful part, Angel." His heart warmed slightly at the familiar term of affection. "I'm humbled that you think that I can do it justice." Her smile was now directed at him and he breathed a small sigh of relief. Music would always be their common ground, able to pull them back from the brink.

He waved his hand as if brushing away her modest words. "I know that you can. I have carefully sculpted your voice for years; I know what you are capable of, Christine." He indulged himself in the pretty blush that spread across her features at the praise, having forgotten what it was like to be so close to her and being able to read her expressions so clearly.

They drank their tea in silence, so many different topics weighing heavily in each of their minds, but both too cowardly to broach any of them. Christine had finished her tea and had unconsciously started to study the man in front of her. Erik was well aware of her gaze, but decided to let her look. She had already seen behind his mask, what else mattered? "Erik?" she spoke up finally, propping up her chin on her fist. His gaze fixed on her and she blushed slightly, it felt as if he was staring straight into her soul. "I'm...I'm sorry. For what happened...I shouldn't have taken off your mask. My curious nature got the best of me and I just...wanted to finally see the face of my Angel." She looked down, her eyes filling with tears. "It was childish of me."

Erik wasn't quite sure how to respond. No one had ever _apologized _to him before. It seemed as if everything that Christine did would lead him into new territory, into completely unknown situations. "Yes, it was childish," he said, his tone much sharper than he had intended. She flinched and he immediately felt like hitting himself for his idiocy. She was making an effort and here he was stumbling in like the monster he was. "I...forgive you, Christine. I apologize for my temper. Your actions took me by surprise and...I do not react well to people seeing my face. Joseph Buquet is proof of that."

Christine paled suddenly at the mention of the dead stagehand and Erik sighed, realizing that his foot was apparently permanently stuck in his mouth. He decided he might as well forge ahead, give Christine the proof that he was the monster that everyone insisted he was. "Buquet has always been too close for comfort. Madame Giry informed me that he saw us come back up to the operahouse that first morning and then a few days later, I was up in the flies very late one night after a performance, sans mask, and he happened to get a rather good glimpse of my face. He was well aware of a few of the entrances to the cellars and I was afraid that after seeing me, he wouldn't hesitate to gather the gendarmes and lead them to me. I couldn't allow that to happen, Christine. The opportunity presented itself and I managed to terrify the managers into compliance and get rid of a threat at the same time."

A chill ran up her spine, listening to Erik's emotionless recounting of the events leading up to Buquet's death, but a strange sort of understanding fell over her as well. It wasn't cold-blooded murder, not exactly; he had killed Buquet to insure his safety. She shook her head, realizing that she was justifying murder, but...it was obvious that the world had not been kind to Erik. Perhaps this violence was the only way he knew to protect himself. "I was frightened of you after that. I saw his body and everyone was screaming about the Phantom of the Opera and...all I could think of was that rage I had seen in your eyes." She seemed to shrink in on herself and Erik cursed himself silently for bringing this subject up. It was certainly not helping him regain Christine's trust.

But then something that she had said penetrated his rather thick skull. "You say that you became frightened of me after that...you were not frightened before?"

She shrugged and looked down. "Your face...it was startling, just because it was not what I expected. Your rage...was terrifying, but I realized how foolish I had been, after you took me back up. It occurred to me that I was just as much to blame for the way that we had parted that day as you were. But then...Buquet was the first time that it truly came together, that my Angel and the Phantom were the same, they were both the man that had abducted me...and yes, Erik. I became frightened of you. But before that, I was just...startled?" She shook her head. "I've longed to speak to you again and now that I am, I'm making a complete mess of it, it seems."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Christine running a fingertip over her cup, glancing up every so often at Erik. Erik hadn't stopped staring at Christine and she was beginning to squirm under his intense gaze. She wasn't used to having someone so wholly focused on her. It was unnerving, but she wasn't frightened of him. She had never been frightened of him before, not until people had begun to tell her to be. "Christine...I heard what you said to that boy, the night of your triumph as the Countess."

The natural flush of her cheeks, which she had just been regaining, quickly disappeared again at his statement and Erik wondered if he should have brought this up at all. "I was afraid that you were there," she muttered, casting her gaze down to the table, unable to meet his eyes.

"Why, Christine?" His voice was pleading and weak, everything that he didn't want to be around her and yet everything that she reduced him to. "I had never brought any harm to you, except forcing you to look at my horrid face. And suddenly you were all but calling me a monster, begging with the Vicomte to protect you."

"I told you, Erik. I was frightened. I had just seen a man die and I knew it was you...and I feared that it was in part my fault as well. I drove you to that point, where your rage blinded you so completely that you killed Buquet. I was overwhelmed, I was so overwhelmed and I didn't know what else to do. And Raoul was there, willing to be the dashing hero, willing to take away my guilt and my shame and tell me that it wasn't my fault. And...like the child that I am, I let him." She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "I have always taken the easy path, Erik. I let others take care of me and guide me rather than making my own decisions. It's cowardly. I know all this, Erik, and yet I cannot stop it. I cannot stop being who I am, who I have been for the past eighteen years...no matter how much I may want to."

She looked up at him, biting her lip and shaking her head slightly. "You picked the wrong girl to fall in love with, Erik. I am...weak and unthinking and childish. You need someone stronger." Glancing away, she was bombarded with mental images of that mannequin in his home, the mannequin that so strongly resembled her, dressed in wedding finery. "I fear I will not be able to be the woman you wish me to be."

Erik, to put it lightly, was shocked. His Christine had always been a clever girl, naive and a bit too trusting, but extremely bright. But she wasn't one for introspection. She had always seemed to enjoy just living, never really thinking about the reasoning behind things or why she behaved a certain way, just knowing that she did. Perhaps these past six months had done more for her maturity than he had seen in eleven years. A sudden pain struck his heart, knowing that if that was indeed true, it was partly because of him that Christine had so suddenly grown up. "Christine, a child would not be able to recognize the attributes that you just accused yourself of. Indeed, much of that is the Christine that I knew, but...you, my dear, you are not that girl."

She flushed and looked away from him. "Perhaps I have grown up then, Erik."

He leaned back in his chair, continuing to study her. "Perhaps," he mused quietly, as if to himself. A silence fell over them, heavy and oppressive as both parties tried to think of some neutral ground to meet on. This time it was Erik who was under observation and he couldn't help but fidget under Christine's gaze. Even with the mask, no one had ever looked upon him like this, void of disgust or hatred. The closest thing he could compare it to was the pity he had seen in Antoinette Giry's eyes so many years ago, but the look in Christine's eyes was even softer than that...if he didn't know better, he would call it affection.

Suddenly, Christine's eyes darted away, as if she had just realized what she had been doing. She glanced outside to the storm, now nearly a white-out. "It certainly looks bad outside. Are you sure that we will be safe here if the storm continues?"

He smiled softly and nodded, then realized that she was still gazing out the window and verbalized his answer. "Yes, Christine. Although it doesn't look like much, I insured that that this cottage was made of only the best materials, it is extremely well insulated and as I said, we have enough food for a few days."

She nodded slightly and turned back to him, shivering. "Are you cold, Christine?"

Shrugging, she averted her gaze once more as a light blush covered her cheeks. "A bit."

Immediately, Erik was up and had pulled the top blanket off the bed and carefully wrapped it around her shoulders. Her hands wrapped around the edges and pulled it closer, so that her entire body was all but engulfed in the material. "Thank you," she murmured quietly.

"You are most welcome, Christine. Please, next time that you are uncomfortable, tell me and I shall do my best to correct the situation." She smiled at him and he felt as if his heart was attempting to burst from his chest. "Would you like to read? I have a few books here; they could help pass the time." He gestured vaguely over towards the bookshelf in the corner of the room.

She nodded and then shyly looked up at him. "Would you...read to me, Erik?"

He had to admit that he was taken aback by her request. "Christine, I know that you are more than capable of reading them yourself. Why would you want me to read them for you?"

Smiling, she shrugged and tugged at the edges of the blanket once more. "I like listening to you, Erik. I always have. You must know that your voice has always brought me great comfort."

He couldn't help the small smile that her confession brought to his face and he quickly nodded his agreement and got up, gesturing to one of the more comfortable chairs by the fireplace. "Please sit, Christine. You should be more comfortable here and closer to the fire. I will pick something to read."

She did as he said and curled up in one of the chairs, tucking her feet underneath her in a move more befitting the young girl she used to be than the woman that she had suddenly become. He came back and sat in the chair slightly off to the side of hers, a book of Shakespeare's sonnets in his hands. She smiled and let her eyes flutter close as he began reading to her.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: While editing this chapter, I noticed a vague similarity between a scene I had written and a scene in michellmybelle25's story "An Angel's Duet". I sent her a quick note and she's totally fine with it. So, if any of you notice it as well, she's well aware of it. :) This is a bit of a long chapter, but I just couldn't break it up without completely ruining the flow of the story. Hope that you guys enjoy, this was probably my favourite chapter to write!

* * *

After about fifteen minutes, she had fully closed her eyes and her breathing evened out, Erik assumed that she was asleep. Closing the book and placing it on the nearby table, he looked up in surprise when Christine called out to him. "Why did you stop?" she asked, her voice husky and soft as if she were in the middle of a dream. But her eyes opened and Erik couldn't help the gasp that escaped from him. That look in her eyes was back ten-fold, that soft emotion that he had been terrified to attempt to identify.

"You looked as if you were falling asleep," Erik said simply, settling back into his chair, attempting not to stare at Christine but at the same time to soak up as much of her gaze as possible.

She shrugged, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders again, as it had fallen slightly while she was listening to him. "I was just resting my eyes. Your voice is very soothing to me, Erik." Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she smiled softly. "Thank you."

"I could continue, if you wish," he said, gesturing over to the book. He seemed desperate to please her, if only to keep that look in her eyes. She shook her head and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear.

"You said that you built this place?" she asked curiously, sitting up slightly in her chair, leaning towards him. He nodded slightly, unsure of where she was going with the conversation. "It's very cozy, Erik. I recall seeing some drawings of houses in your home...is it a hobby?"

Shrugging, he leaned back in his chair, thankful for the neutral topic. It seemed as if they were dancing around what they really wanted to talk about, but perhaps that was for the best. After their brief discussion on the subject, Erik needed some time to process what had been said. "In a way, yes. I occasionally take on architectural jobs. I have a very select clientele of rich aristocrats that know of my talents and I design their homes. Although my salary at the opera is certainly helpful, most of my wealth comes from those jobs."

She smiled and nodded, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. That uncomfortable silence descended upon them again. "Do you miss Sweden, Christine?" Erik asked, desperate to break through the thick and uneasy atmosphere.

She shrugged, looking into the fire and clutching the blanket closer to her chest. "Sometimes. Although, I confess, I do not remember much of it anymore. So many memories are coloured with childish fancy...I would like to return one day and see it with older eyes...how it truly is and not how my younger self imagines it."

"Won't that make it lose some of the magic? I recall you always speaking of your village with such joy, Christine. I would hate for you to lose that."

Smiling softly, she turned to him, locking gazes. "Sometimes the real thing is more magical. I want to see it how it truly is. I know that I would still love it the same, but I wish to know the truth." Erik absorbed her words, certain that they were no longer just talking about Sweden.

They sat in silence, Erik staring into the fire and Christine's eyes darting around everywhere to look at anything but Erik, until her stomach suddenly grumbled loudly, announcing its discontent. Christine flushed with embarrassment, a hand going to clutch at the offender as the blanket slid off one shoulder. Erik chuckled slightly and Christine reddened even further at the sound. "Perhaps a meal would be appreciated?" he asked.

She nodded, her face still rosy with embarrassment. She watched him silently as he moved around the kitchen, making a simple stew from the food that he had gathered from the cellars while she had been asleep. He set a bowl down in front of her and she dug in gratefully, before glancing up at him. "You must be hungry as well, Erik. Please sit and have some stew with me."

He shrugged and gestured vaguely to his mask. "I will eat later, Christine."

She pursed her lips, setting her spoon down decidedly. "Erik, I have seen your face. It will not shock me now. I insist that you eat with me." He couldn't help the small smirk that appeared on his face at her insistence; she had certainly matured in the last six months. The younger Christine that he was so well acquainted with would never dare demand anything of him. He discovered he was actually quite fond of this new Christine.

He filled a bowl for himself and then sat beside her. She was watching him as he reached up and hesitated before placing his fingers on his mask. He glanced over to her and she gave a small nod of encouragement and a smile as he pried the mask off. Laying it on the table, he stayed focused on his food in front of him, afraid to look at Christine. He started when he felt a soft touch on his hand and he glanced up at her uncertainly.

There was no disgust on her face as she looked at him, quite a first for him. Instead she smiled at him, holding his gaze, and then turned her attention back to her meal. His face had not caused her to lose her appetite, in fact, in between spoonfuls of her stew; she was glancing up at him! He happily began eating; not daring to look at Christine again, in case that one look of acceptance had been a fluke. If he had looked at her throughout the meal though, he would have noticed the small smile that took up residence on her features as she snuck glances at him.

They finished their stew and Erik was insistent that he be the one to clean up while Christine enjoyed the warmth of the fire once more. After he was finished, he went back to the table and replaced his mask, before turning to Christine. He cleared his throat and she jumped slightly, startled out of her thoughts. She smiled at him, although a flicker of sadness appeared when her eyes settled on his mask for a brief moment, but neither of them dwelled on it. He sat in the chair opposite her and she smiled at him. "Erik, I was wondering...do you think that we could sing? It's been a very long time since I've heard you sing and...I miss it."

"I have no instruments here, Christine," he replied uncertainly. Although he was desperate to hear her voice again, knowing that it was only for him, he was also unsure if it would be the smartest thing. Christine's voice held such a power over him; he wasn't sure if being that out of control right now would be a good idea. But with one glance to her pleading face, he knew that he would bend to her will. He could deny her nothing.

"I need to practice my part though, what better time will I have? You yourself said that I need more instruction. And you obviously know the music better than anyone, Erik; it's not as if you need it sitting in front of you." She smiled softly at him and leaned forward, gently touching the hand that was resting on his knee. His heart began to pound.

Was this how the Vicomte felt all the time? Any time Christine bestowed a gentle touch upon him, any time she smiled at him? Did his heart feel like it were to beat out of his chest at any moment? Of course not. The Vicomte was used to such touches, probably expected them and much more. Only he, poor, unhappy Erik, was so affected by the simplest touch from Christine. It was as if something suddenly snapped and the perfect gentleman facade that he had been putting on all day cracked.

He growled and Christine recoiled, snatching her hand back in reflex. She was unsure as to what had caused this sudden mood shift in him. "Yes Christine, we shall practice! 'Point of No Return' then!"

Christine sat up in her seat, shaking her head slightly, making an effort to placate him. Something had obviously upset him, but she knew that music could always put him in a better mood, if only she could steer him in the right direction. "I was thinking...perhaps Aminta's aria from the second act. I was having-"

But suddenly Erik grabbed her wrists and pulled her up from her chair, growling, "You will sing what I tell you to sing, Christine!"

She tried to shake his grip from her wrists, but instead of letting her go, he just held her tighter. His grip was tight but it didn't hurt her, her bones didn't rub together as she thought they might. Even in his inexplicable anger, he was oddly gentle with her, just as he had been when she ripped his mask away. Wincing, she tried once more to reason with him. "Erik, stop, please. Just listen!"

"Sing Christine!" his voice boomed throughout the cottage and she let out a soft cry as he all but threw down her wrists and began singing the first notes of the duet. She was trembling, both from fear caused by Erik's sudden change of mood and from...some dark feeling, pulling at her, calling to her as she listened to him sing. She hadn't wanted to sing 'Point of No Return', not with him, not in this enclosed space where there was no escape. It was much too dangerous for either of them, and now it seemed as if her worst fears were coming to fruition.

She remained standing as Erik stalked around her, continuing to wrap her in his spell as he sang. His hand reached out to her as he walked behind her, trailing up her arm, stopping once his palm reached her shoulder. He stayed there, standing behind her as Don Juan's part of the song came to a close, his hand a constant weight on her shoulder as she started to sing.

She felt him bury his head in her hair as she sang, heard his soft moan as she sang of bodies entwining. Suddenly, the hand that was still resting on her shoulder dropped down and pressed against her stomach, pulling her back against him fully. Her head fell back against his shoulder as she continued to sing, lost in the passion that the music inspired in her.

His voice joined hers, uniting their voices like the acts that they were singing about. Christine felt her knees weaken and leaned back fully against him, his other hand coming up to grasp her waist, keeping her upright. She shuddered as the last notes of the song rang out through the small space of the cottage and she felt Erik stiffen behind her. His grip on her became tighter, pulling her back even further against him, making sure that no part of her body was left untouched by his. "What's wrong, Christine? Disgusted by the monster?" he snarled against her ear, his grip on her waist tightening so it was almost difficult to breathe.

She shook her head desperately, searching for the words that could possibly describe her feelings. "Erik..." she whispered, trailing off as his hands slipped upwards from her waist, sliding over her ribcage and stopping just below her breasts. She shivered again, knowing that this was wrong, but not knowing how to stop it. She thought that maybe singing would help dispel the tension that seemed to fill up every nook and cranny of the cottage, but her plan had backfired in the worst way. Something had come over Erik when she touched his hand, something that had released the Opera Ghost persona that he had so carefully hidden away since she had awoken.

"I'm surprised that you've allowed my touch this long, Christine. Are you hoping that your dear Vicomte will somehow come save you?" He chuckled darkly against her hair, keeping one hand under her breasts and moving the other to her hip. "I hope he does, darling," he drawled, "and perishes in the storm. Although that would deprive me of the joy of killing him myself."

Christine shook her head, finally fighting against his grip, but he was too strong for her. His hands kept her firmly against him, his lips brushing against the skin of her neck. "Stop Erik. I don't know what's come over you, but this isn't you."

"This is me, Christine. That's what you still don't seem to grasp. I am no man, Christine. I am a monster. A ghost!" He threw his head back and laughed, the sound chilling her to the bone. She shook her head, still fighting his grasp.

"No Erik! Stop this! This is what drove me from you in the first place!" She finally broke free from his hold and spun around to face him. "But you were the one to completely leave me, Erik! I am undeserving of your anger!"

"I left you?" he yelled, advancing on her. She backed up with every step that he took towards her, until her back was against one of the walls. She had nowhere else to run. "You were terrified of me, Christine! I heard you with the Vicomte, or do you forget? If I remember correctly, you wanted to escape from me, all but called me an animal! You begged that boy to hide you from me! Why would I think that you would want anything to do with me after such a performance?"

Much to her dismay, Christine began tearing up at Erik's recollection of events, knowing that she couldn't deny any of his accusations. But she refused to let them fall and called upon her new found strength, squaring her shoulders and looking up at him as he continued to shout at her.

"You ran from me, Christine! You betrayed me and ran straight into the arms of that boy! You probably never even gave me a thought these past six months, whereas I thought of you every single moment. There has not been a second that you did not completely consume me!" His hands came up and slammed against the wall on either side of her head. She started, but refused to look away from him. He hung his head, some of his anger suddenly deflating.

Christine bit her lip and raised her hand slowly, almost placing it on his chest, but then letting it fall to her side once more. "I did think of you, Erik. Every night, I hoped that you would come to me." A single tear escaped from her eye and the same hand that had almost touched him quickly came up to wipe it away. He slumped even further as he watched her, focusing only on her face. "But then I heard nothing from you, for six months! I was afraid that you...that something had happened to you and you were lying dead in your home." She crumpled in on herself, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "I was frightened of you," she choked out, "but I was even more frightened for you!"

He staggered back from her, as if she had struck him. Landing heavily in a chair, he stared at her in shock as she continued to cry, leaning against the wall for support. Her hand went to her stomach as she attempted to compose herself, raising her gaze to him once more and her other hand came up to wipe away her tears. "I am not disgusted by you, Erik. I thought that I had proved that just now." She slowly made her way over to him, slipping to her knees at his feet. She reached up and carefully pried the mask from his face.

Laying the piece of porcelain beside her, she raised her gaze to Erik's, her hand twitched at her side, but this time she did not raise it. "I was weak," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears once more. "I told you, Erik, I was weak and I was scared and I did not know how to deal with the feelings that you inspired in me. So I ran!" Covering her face with her hands, she collapsed back and began to cry again. "Forgive me, Erik," she pleaded.

Erik was frozen in his chair. Christine, his Christine, his Angel, had just unmasked him and looked upon his naked face. She had not screamed, she had not run, she had showed no fear whatsoever. No, instead she had...apologized? He shook his head. This didn't make any sense; it had to be a dream. This was not the way that his life worked. And yet...

He reached out to her, his trembling hand almost brushing against her cheek. Christine looked up at him, her eyes rimmed with red and glassy from her tears. She wiped artlessly at her cheeks as Erik's hand drifted down to her chin, still not touching her. She lifted her chin at his hand's ghostly demand and got to her knees, leaning up towards him as he leant forward in his chair. "You ask for my forgiveness, Christine?"

She nodded wordlessly, her blue eyes wide with innocence. He slid off the chair and to his knees, on the same level as his beloved. Both his hands moved to clutch hers, hovering for a moment above them, before Christine turned her palms up, as if in silent supplication. A soft sigh escaped him as he grasped her hands, while he searched her countenance for any sign that she was lying. But he could find none. "Christine," he murmured, squeezing her hands lightly. "You are too good, Christine. You have my forgiveness, although it does not matter." He leaned back to look at her.

Smiling softly, she raised her gaze to his. "May I..." she trailed off, but one of her hands untangled from his and came up, clearly seeking permission to touch him. His heart softened as he nodded and her hand moved slowly to cup his cheek, her thumb caressing his scars. She moved slowly, as if afraid to set him off again and he winced as he recalled his outburst. But she had not fled like a frightened child, she had stood her ground, had tried to calm him down. Had matched his fire with her own.

After a few moments, she dropped her hand and he felt a stab of disappointment that quickly dissipated when she reached down to grasp his hands again. She looked up at him, as if examining him for something. Something that she apparently found, as she smiled at him and then glanced down at their hands.

"Oh Erik," she sniffled and tightened her grip, "I was just as consumed as you these past six months. For so long, the best part of my day was our singing lessons...when they were suddenly gone-when you were suddenly gone...I didn't know what to do." Looking away, she flushed slightly in embarrassment at her next statement. "I cried myself to sleep for three days after my birthday came and went and there was still no word from you. You were my dearest friend and to not even hear from you then..." She trailed off and raised her gaze to his, taken aback from the pain in his gaze.

"I bought you a scarf. I wanted to leave it for you, but I didn't think that you would want anything to do with me," he murmured, his hand raising and almost brushing against her cheek before he jerked it back, as if he was unaware of his own actions. She grabbed his hand before it fell though, and brought it up to her cheek, pressing it against her smooth flesh.

"Touch me, trust me," she murmured, beaming up at him. Suddenly her features contorted in a giant yawn and she blushed, one of her hands rushing to her mouth in embarrassment. "Oh goodness, Erik, I'm sorry. That was rather unladylike of me."

Her blush only deepened when he shrugged and informed her, "I've seen you do far more unladylike things, Christine. It has been an extremely trying day for you, you should sleep some more."

Caught up in memories of making faces at herself and practicing conversations in the mirror before her lessons, it took her a moment longer than necessary to reply. "But Erik, the sun has not even set!"

He smirked as Christine's youth emerged once again, complaining like a child that had been ordered to bed. He was about to attempt to convince her to go to sleep, when another yawn overtook her. Erik looked at her knowingly; she dropped her head and sighed. "Fine. I shall retire."

He stood quickly, holding out his hands to help her, his heart soaring when she did not so much as hesitate before taking them. She walked over to the bed and then turned to him, her cheeks still tinged with pink. It seemed that Christine blushed rather easily, a fact that had somehow escaped his notice before. Perhaps because he had never been this close to her. "Turn around please, monsieur, while I slip under the covers," she requested with a grin.

He smiled softly and immediately turned his back, trying his best not to focus on the rustling of clothing as the dress slid to the floor and then was placed on a nearby chair and then the sound of the sheets sliding against Christine's undergarments as she slid into the bed. "You may turn back around now," she called out softly and he let out the breath he had been holding. He smiled at her and took the seat that he had been occupying when she first awoke.

Her eyes were already having trouble staying open, but she smiled sleepily at him. "Will you sing to me, Erik? That lullaby that you used to sing when I was little and couldn't sleep...it's been so long since I've heard it."

Erik smiled as he began singing the quiet melody to her. He'd written this for a seven-year old Christine, soon after he'd first spoken to her in the chapel. She had been a sad slip of a girl then, weeping at the smallest provocation and consumed with grief for her father. The other girls had made fun of her and she often had trouble sleeping, the cruel taunts she had endured earlier in the day would echo in her head as she tried to find peace. She'd told him one day during their lessons about her inability to sleep, and that night had been the first night he'd followed her back to the dormitory. He'd intended to only insure that the other girls did not tease her too badly, but he'd ended up staying and worrying as she tossed and turned in her bed.

He threw his voice so that it would reach her ear and her ear alone, and told her that he was there, watching over her, before beginning to sing her a soft lullaby that had begun to play in his head. She'd smiled and slowly closed her eyes, eventually drifting off to sleep.

He'd stopped doing such a thing once she emerged from her shell, once she had begun to make friends with the other ballet rats. She'd had a better time sleeping then. The fact that she still remembered his lullaby warmed his heart.

A soft snoring noise interrupted his reverie and he smiled at his sweet Christine, fast asleep in the bed. He ceased his song and then he allowed his own eyes to shut, figuring he might as well be well rested for once, it would be hard work to return to the operahouse once the storm passed.

He didn't even notice that the mask was still lying on the floor, right where Christine had placed it.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Bit of a filler chapter, but still has quite a bit of Erik/Christine goodness in it. I'd like to take a moment and thank all of you for your reviews, it means a lot to me that you take the time to tell me what you think! Hope that you enjoy this chapter, only one more left (and a cheesy epilogue). :)

* * *

Christine awoke, disoriented in the unfamiliar surroundings and extremely confused as to what had happened. Slowly, everything came back to her, the accident, waking here and seeing Erik...their fight. The odd sort of truce they had called. She smiled, snuggling deeper into the covers before her stomach let her know that it was not quite as content as she was to stay in bed. Sitting up slightly, she called out to Erik in the small area which served as the kitchen. "I am awake, but have not dressed yet. Don't turn around!"

A slight jerk of his head showed that he heard her and she slipped out of the bed, hissing as her feet hit the cold wooden floors. "There are dresses in the armoire for you and the dress you came in is also dry. As are all your undergarments, but I truly would prefer you not wear your corset." Christine had wandered over to the armoire and caught sight of a dark green woollen dress, fingering the thick material as she weighed her options. Putting on her corset would be the proper thing to do, but it was nearly impossible to accomplish by herself. And the thing was dreadfully uncomfortable.

With a small smile, she picked out the green dress and laid it out on the bed, glancing over to Erik as she quickly washed with the water in the basin he had set out near the bed. Then she slipped the dress over her head and tied the sash in the back, before calling out to Erik once more. "I am proper again!"

He chuckled slightly as she moved towards him and sat at the table. He placed a bowl of stew in front of her and she smiled up at him, startling when she was greeted with the sight of his mask once more. He sat down across from her as she frowned, picking up her spoon. "Erik, you do not have to wear your mask around me. I thought I made that clear yesterday." She noted that there was only one bowl of stew as well and fixed him with a stare. "I also thought I made it clear that you were to eat with me."

He shrugged, watching as she gently blew on her spoonful so as to not burn her tongue. "The mask is more for my comfort, Christine. And I have already eaten, I promise. You simply slept too long." He smirked slightly as she made quite a displeased face at him. But soon her stomach took priority again, and her body began to warm from the delicious stew.

He sat with her and watched her as she ate, and while she should have found it disturbing, it was almost rather comforting. Absently, he began rolling his head around and Christine winced as she heard some most disconcerting cracking noises. She nearly hit herself when she realized why Erik appeared to be so sore. "Erik, did you sleep in that chair all night?"

He shrugged and she knew that he wasn't going to answer her, so she pinned him with her sternest look. Smothering a chuckle, Erik waved his hand nonchalantly. "For the little that I did sleep, yes, I slept in the chair, Christine. Trust me; I am used to aches and pains from falling asleep in strange places."

Christine sighed and shook her head, while eating the last few spoonfuls of her stew. "I wish I had been thinking clearer last night, we could have..." She trailed off, quickly glancing up towards the bed and over to Erik, who was gazing at her curiously. Blushing, she shook her head and grabbed her bowl, standing up and making her way to the counter. "I will clean up, Erik."

Erik got up and looked as if he was going to take her bowl from her, so she quickly snatched it away, pointing with her other hand towards the chairs near the fireplace. "I will clean up my own mess. Go sit down, Erik."

He smirked and finally gave in with a slight nod of his head. "If you insist, Mademoiselle Daaé."

Christine bustled around the kitchen, probably taking longer than usual just to ensure that she was in full control of her mouth again. She had almost suggested that they could have shared a bed! Blushing furiously, she scrubbed harder at her bowl. Soon, there were no more dishes or pots to clean, so Christine took a deep breath and made her way over to where Erik was sitting.

"The storm has passed," he said, a tad mournfully as he gazed out the window. "We should be able to leave later this afternoon."

Christine smiled as she came to sit next to him. "You sound so forlorn, Erik. I thought you would be pleased to return to the operahouse and be able to monitor the progress of the company once more. Who knows what atrocities they've committed against your masterpiece in our absence?" Her eyes glimmered as she joked with him and though his first instinct was to be hurt by her teasing, he took a deep breath and examined her expression. There was no malice in her eyes, just that...affection. So he relaxed and shrugged.

"I just..." he took a deep breath, preparing to broach the subject that had been weighing heavily on his mind since he had woken up a few hours before. "What will happen, Christine? Once we return to the operahouse? Once I am the Opera Ghost again and you are the fiancée of the Vicomte."

Christine's face fell and she looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Oh Erik..." she whispered.

Red began clouding his vision and he took a deep breath to keep his temper under control. He had frightened her enough for a lifetime; he needed to be more careful. "This is it, then? A stolen moment in this cabin and I am to go back to my life of solitude? Live off of fond memories of yesterday for the rest of my life? It is not enough, Christine!" He sprang from the chair and began pacing near the window as Christine collected her thoughts.

Slowly, she rose and followed him, stopping him with a light touch to his back. She moved to embrace him from behind, her cheek resting against the material of his coat. She could feel him tremble at her freely given embrace, knowing that he was unused to such affection. "No Erik. I could never do that to you...I could never do that to my heart."

He turned to face her, at the urging of her hands on his shoulders. She placed her small hands on his chest, curling in the lapels of his jacket. "When we return to the operahouse, I will tell Raoul that I cannot marry him. I will attend rehearsals for your opera and play my part to perfection. And then...then we can flee, if you wish. No one will ever have to know what became of the Opera Ghost, he can just disappear."

He sighed, his hands covering hers. "A pretty speech, Christine, but how am I to trust that what you say is true? When you are back amongst the company, back amongst whispers of the crimes I am said to have committed...when you are back in the arms of your Vicomte. Am I to trust that your heart will remain constant?"

She refused to look away from him and raised her hand to his mask, carefully tugging it off and laying it down on a nearby table. Her hands came up to cup his cheeks as her eyes bore into his. "Would you like to know why I wished to visit my papa's grave yesterday?" He nodded slightly, confused by her seeming non-sequitur. "I wanted to be able to let go of Little Lotte. I was tired of being little Christine Daaé that everyone had to take care of, had to look after. I felt as if going to my father's grave...he could help me let go. If I was free of my younger self...I could be in charge of my own life."

Her hands dropped to his and she intertwined their fingers. "But I realized that I didn't need papa's permission to let go." She squared her shoulders and looked to him, not breaking her gaze. "I love you, Erik," she confessed. His breath caught and his mouth opened to say something, but she shook her head briefly. "I need to finish. I love you more than Raoul or music or even my dear Papa. I love you more than my heart can bear."

Her voice softened and she glanced down, never releasing the grip on his hands. "I love you more than what society deems proper, more than what my faith deems right. But in my heart, I know that it cannot be wrong, because it is love, Erik. And it consumes me and once that frightened me, but no longer. I live and breathe for you, Erik, and you alone." Returning her gaze to his, Erik was startled by the strength in her eyes. "I ran from you, as a child uncertain of her own heart. But now, I offer myself to you and beg your forgiveness as a woman who is secure in what she wants."

His eyes glistened with tears as he stared down in amazement at Christine. "Christine...is this...is this a dream? Am I still asleep?" he asked disbelievingly.

She smiled and shook her head fervently, squeezing his hands. "It's real, Erik. And I meant every word, with all my heart." He detangled his hands from hers and they came up to cup her face, tilting it up towards him.

He leaned in towards her, but was unable to close that last gap between them. Christine smiled softly before raising herself onto her tiptoes, grasping Erik's shoulders for balance, and met his lips with hers. The kiss was soft and innocent, as if both of them were afraid of the other breaking.

They broke away a few moments later, as Erik looked down at her in awe. "You are real." She nodded, smiling.

"I am, Erik. I promise. And I will not abandon you once we are back at the operahouse." Caressing his cheek gently, she smiled sweetly at him. He leaned down to steal another kiss, a transgression that she willingly indulged him in.

After a few more moments and increasingly passionate kisses, Christine was the one to break away, placing her hands gently on his chest. "As much as I would love to continue with these activities until we are able to leave this afternoon, I was actually serious yesterday about needing your help with Aminta's aria." She grinned impishly as he groaned softly in frustration.

"You expect me to ignore the taste of you on my lips to help you with the aria?"

She chuckled and stepped away from him, out of his tempting embrace. "I know that you are capable of anything when it comes to your music, Erik." She straightened and glanced at him, steel in her gaze and a flirtatious grin on her lips. "I will start at the second verse."

The morning passed by quite pleasantly, filled with singing and kisses, in almost equal amounts. After a few hours, Erik glanced out the window and noticed that the snow had melted enough for them to be able to return to the operahouse. He would go to the church just outside the graveyard and ask to borrow a horse, which he assured to Christine that he would promptly return. "Where on earth would I keep a horse, Christine?" he had joked with her.

Christine had changed back into the clothes that she had come in, shivering slightly and wondering what she was doing in such a low cut gown in such frigid weather. Erik noticed and shook his head. "The gowns in the armoire are yours. You are free to wear one of them back to the operahouse, darling."

She made a face at the term of endearment and Erik's heart was struck with a sudden pain. "I just assumed that if your feelings for me were as you say, I would be allowed little pet names as lovers often are. Apologies for overstepping my boundaries, Mademoiselle Daaé," he hissed, his tone absolutely venomous.

Christine drew back and frowned at him. "I was simply recalling the last time that you referred to me as darling, Erik. Do you recall it? You were threatening to kill Raoul and were quite seized with madness. Forgive me if I recoil at the term!" Her lips pursed as Erik's chin dropped to his chest, ashamed at the reminder of his outburst, in addition to his latest loss of temper.

"I've acted horrendously," Erik murmured. "I'm sorry."

Christine chuckled mirthfully, stepping close to him. "Some might say that I drove you mad."

He shook his head, grabbing her hands and bringing them up to his lips, brushing kisses to her knuckles. "I assure you, I was quite mad before you ever came into my life, Christine."


	5. Chapter 5

Notes: Practically the end of Christine and Erik's little adventure! Thanks so much for sticking with me on this little ride and sharing all your thoughts for me, I appreciate each and every one of you so much! Hope that you enjoy and remember to look for the epilogue, probably sometime tomorrow.

* * *

Erik insisted that Christine stay in the cabin while he ventured outside and she was just about to become worried when she heard a noise outside and glanced out the window to see Erik on a rather large brown and white horse.

She grabbed her cloak and slung it around her shoulders, fastening it quickly as she went out the door to meet him, making sure to lock the complicated locks just as Erik had showed her. The ride back to the operahouse was quiet for the most part, Erik seemed very focused on the ride and Christine was quite content to stay within the warmth of his arms. He dropped her off about a block away from the operahouse, promising her that he would come to her later; he just needed to find somewhere to store the horse for a brief period.

The moment that Christine stepped foot into the operahouse, she was immediately swept into Raoul's arms. "Christine! We were so worried about you! I found the carriage overturned but there was no sign of you!" He released her and she managed a glance over his shoulder to see the managers, Madame Giry, and Meg all standing in the grand hall.

"Indeed, I ran into a bit of trouble. But a kind old man who lives near the cemetery luckily saw my misfortune and offered me a place to stay for the night. I'm terribly sorry for worrying all of you. But I assure you that I am in the best of health and am eager to return to rehearsals as soon as possible." She put on a brave smile and tried not to wince as Raoul grabbed her hand.

"In that case, we shall begin rehearsals in two hours. Will that be sufficient time to recover, Mademoiselle Daaé?" Monsieur Firmin asked her courteously. She nodded gratefully and with that, the managers were off, surely eager to get back to more...interesting matters.

Christine turned to the Girys and smiled. "I'm sorry for worrying you both. I assure you that I will tell you all that happened, but first," she glanced to her side and then down to her still entwined hand, "I need to speak with the Vicomte. I'll see you both at rehearsals, yes?"

Meg looked like she was about to protest, but Madame Giry just nodded and led her daughter away by the shoulders. Christine smiled slightly and turned to Raoul, unsurprised to find herself in his embrace once more. "Oh Christine, I couldn't help but think the worst when I saw that carriage! I knew that I should not have let you go by yourself!" His hand came up to brush against the small cut on her forehead. "Are you sure you should be rehearsing so soon?"

She smiled softly at him, grabbing his hand and pulling it away from her face. "Raoul, I assure you that I am well. But...we must speak. In private." He nodded immediately and began leading her towards the dormitories.

She tugged gently on his hand, causing him to stop and turn to her. "My dressing room is closer. And it has far more privacy than I could ever hope for in the dormitories." They traversed down the hallways as Christine planned out what to say to Raoul. She had no desire to hurt him, but knew with a certainty that she would. It was unavoidable. But thinking of Erik's face in the cabin, so full of love for her, the expression of tentative trust...she could not deny him any longer. This had to end now.

She sat down on the chaise lounge after they got into the dressing room and closed and locked the door, gesturing for him to sit as well. "Raoul...I do not know how to say this..." she murmured, looking down at her hands.

He leaned over and grabbed both her hands and Christine caught the flash of movement in the mirror and suddenly wondered if Erik was back in the operahouse yet. If he was watching her right now. "Little Lotte, you know that you can call me anything."

She sighed and turned her attention back to him fully. "That...is part of the problem, Raoul. I am no longer your Little Lotte. I...Raoul, I can no longer marry you. The brief respite from the operahouse has given me time to think, to get perspective on my life and...I cannot become what you want me to become. I'm sorry."

Raoul appeared as if Christine had just hit him over the head with a heavy object. "What?" he sputtered. "Christine, you must be ill, you don't know what you're saying! I'll call for a doctor at once!"

Christine shook her head fervently and tugged on his hands, keeping him in place. "I am well, Raoul. For once...I know my own mind. Please just listen." Raoul looked as if he was about to protest, but then fell silent at the seriousness in her eyes. "I would not be happy being your wife. I am not suited for a life as a Vicomtess, Raoul."

"Christine, don't be ridiculous! You would make a wonderful Vicomtess!" Raoul protested, but Christine just shook her head.

"I have nothing in common with the women in your social circle, Raoul. My parents were peasants! I'm a performer...I cannot imagine my life without music, without the stage. And I know that I would never be able to have that if I were to marry you, would I, Raoul?" she asked sadly, already knowing the answer for herself.

He looked about to protest, as if he would offer her the world, but she held his gaze critically and he closed his mouth, considering for a moment. Then he shook his head. "No. It would never be proper for you to return to the stage."

She offered him a small, sad smile. "I cannot live like that, Raoul. The music here...it pulses through my veins. It makes me feel alive."

His hand disentangled itself from hers and it came up to brush her cheek gently, as he smiled softly at her. "I can see that. Whenever I watch you in rehearsals, or think back to that first night that I saw you on stage...you sparkled, Christine. And I'm not sure if I could ever forgive myself if I took that away from you." He sighed and dropped his hand back down to where hers rested. "I shall stay close by though, Christine, do not fear. I will not leave this operahouse until that madman is captured."

It took Christine a moment to realize who Raoul was even talking about. A sudden sense of shame arose over her and she hoped that Erik wasn't watching, in fear that he might take her lack of immediate response as indication of having second thoughts. "Raoul..." she muttered, trailing off. He was wholly focused on her and she felt her stomach knot. "Raoul, don't...don't say that about him."

He grabbed her hands once more, his thumbs brushing over the backs of her hands. "Don't worry, Christine. I won't let him capture you. You may no longer be my fiancée, but you are still my dear friend."

She shook her head miserably, her eyes beginning to burn with tears. "It's not that," she managed to squeeze out, the lump in her throat becoming quite a hindrance. "It's the exact opposite...Oh Raoul!" She got up from the chaise, needing space between them for this particular confession. "Erik...that is, the Phantom...he is no threat to me, Raoul. I've...spoken with him. We have an agreement of sorts," she said carefully, dancing around what actually transpired between them.

Raoul's eyes narrowed suspiciously and he began to look around the room, getting up from the chaise to join her. "Christine, what is it, what's wrong?" he hissed, glancing between the mirror and the door. "He's put you under some spell. What is it, Christine? Has he threatened you? Or me?"

"No, Raoul, no he hasn't, you don't understand!" she cried, reaching out and catching his arms, tugging on them as he strode towards the mirror, pounding on the glass.

"Come out then, Phantom! Come and face me! You will not win this time! If you've threatened Christine, I swear-"

Christine was certain that Raoul would have continued his threat until he was blue in the face, but just at that moment, the mirror slid to the side and Erik was standing in the void. Raoul stumbled back into Christine as Erik strode out, his very being radiating an unspoken danger. "You'll what, Vicomte?" he sneered, his gaze completely focused on the other man.

Christine attempted to get between the men, but Raoul grabbed her and forced her behind him. She saw a dangerous flash in Erik's eyes and she knew that she had to speak up before this situation got out of hand. "Raoul, stop! He has me under no spell. He has not threatened you." She saw the spark of amusement in Erik's eyes at that statement but did not acknowledge it. "I have spoken to him on my own terms...I have made my own decision." She stepped out from behind him and evaded his grasp to stand between him and Erik. "I cannot run from him, Raoul. I do not want to."

She took a step towards Erik and clearly read the disbelief in his eyes. He had truly not thought her capable of standing up to Raoul and admitting her feelings for him in front of another. Well, she was about to shock the living daylights out of the fearsome Opera Ghost then. She grabbed Erik's gloved hand and intertwined their fingers. "I love him, Raoul. I say that with a clear mind and conscience. I love him. I will sing his opera for him and then we will leave Paris and start again where no one knows who we are. It is what I want. It is what I need." She glanced up at Erik and smiled softly; squeezing his hand, before turning her gaze back to Raoul.

The look on Raoul's face was heart wrenching, the worst combination of betrayal, pain, and confusion that Christine could ever imagine. She cursed her inconstant heart for causing so much agony for both of these men, men who had done nothing but love her. But she straightened her shoulders and held her ground, her heart had once been weak and inconstant, but now it was not. She knew what she wanted and what she had to do to achieve it. She could only hope that Raoul would forgive her. "Did he hurt you, Christine? Was he the reason that your carriage crashed?" His question was directed at her, but Raoul had yet to remove his gaze from Erik.

She shook her head softly. "No Raoul. No, he saved me. If not for him, I would have frozen to death in the storm."

"Kind old man, eh?" Raoul scoffed, looking Erik up and down. "Well he certainly is old." Erik growled and Christine quickly tightened her grip on his hand, her other hand coming up to rest on his arm. Raoul suddenly stiffened and grasped her arm, physically tearing her from Erik. "He is who you've been with since yesterday? Are you certain that you are well? I should take you to the doctor right now!"

Christine heard Erik's growl behind her and knew that it wouldn't take much to provoke Erik into violence after such an insinuation. She quickly jerked out of Raoul's grasp and stood between the two men. "Raoul," she addressed him first, "please. I promise, nothing happened and I am perfectly fine. Yes, I have been with Erik. But I am completely of my own mind right now. He has done nothing to me. I swear to you, Raoul."

She turned to Erik and simply grasped his hand, tugging him slightly closer to her. "I love him, Raoul. He is the other half of my soul."

"He's a monster, Christine. Do you remember how terrified you were of him? He kidnapped you to play out his perverse fantasies down in that lair of his! You told me about the wedding dress, remember? He intends to force you to marry him! Christine, I promise you, leave here with me and you will never have to worry about him again!" Raoul exclaimed, making a grab for Christine once more, but she danced out of his grip.

She could feel Erik tense beside her and she looked up at him worriedly, but his gaze was focused entirely on Raoul. Tugging gently on his hand, she waited until he glanced down at her, his eyes softening immediately. Giving him a small smile, she then turned to address Raoul. "I was terrified of the Opera Ghost, Raoul. And I see no ghost in front of me, merely a man. He is not forcing me to do anything. Yes, he took me from my dressing room, but I went willingly. I will not leave the operahouse behind; I will not leave Erik behind. I cannot deny my heart any longer."

Raoul glanced at their clasped hands in despair, trying once more to reach Christine. "He's a murderer, Christine. You are not safe!" he pleaded with her.

She looked up at Erik briefly, insuring his attention, before answering. "I know his sins. And he knows mine. I'm sorry, Raoul. I'm so sorry for hurting you like this. But it couldn't go on any longer." Loosening her grip on Erik's hand, she gently kissed his cheek, trying her best to ignore the disgusted look on Raoul's face as she did so. Moving to Raoul, she grasped his hand, tugging lightly so she drew his attention away from Erik and fully onto her. "I do love you as my dear friend, Raoul. And I hope that you can understand...that you will respect my decision."

He stepped closer to her, grasping her hand tighter. "Christine, he's dangerous. I cannot in good faith just...leave this room. Leave you alone with him." Christine heard Erik snort behind her, as if reminding both of them that he was standing right there, but she ignored him for the time being. If they were to ever start again, she would have to have Raoul's assurance that he would not interfere.

"He would never hurt me, Raoul. If it makes you feel any better, I am seeking out Meg's company right after I am finished here, and then I have rehearsals. We will not be alone together. But...I have spoken to him about his misdeeds. I have my eyes wide open, I promise. I love him. I think that I always have, I was just confused." She bit her lip, tugging lightly on his hand. "I need you to promise me that you will let us be, Raoul. I do not want to have to choose between my friendship with you and my love for Erik, but if you force me...Erik will win." She hoped that Erik was listening closely and would believe her words. She realized that she, in part, was still convincing both men of her love.

Raoul moved his gaze over Christine's shoulder, locking gazes with Erik. Christine didn't have to turn around to know that Erik would meet his gaze, unblinking. "If he harms you, Christine, you will tell me immediately?" It was a question, but Raoul's tone made it sound like an order. She nodded, turning slightly so that she could see both men, still holding onto one of Raoul's hands. There was an uncomfortable silence in the air as Raoul shifted and gathered his thoughts. Sighing sadly, he finally spoke, "We will have to call off the managers' plan somehow."

Christine let out a sigh of relief. It seemed as if Raoul was willing to cooperate for her sake, which would make this whole situation so much easier. Erik bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. "I will write a note letting them know that if they put on my opera exactly as I ask, I will bother them no longer. I will also stop pestering them about my salary, as a gesture of good faith." Christine had to smother the smile at Erik's words, but she shot him a quick glance that clearly conveyed her amusement. A brief lift of his lips was the only sign that he had noticed it.

Raoul nodded and tugged on Christine's hand, recapturing her attention fully. "Goodbye, Christine. I will see you at rehearsals. If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to seek me out." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently, his gesture much more a goodbye to what they could have had than just to her for the time being. She gave him a small smile as he pulled away and squeezed her hand before taking his leave.

The atmosphere in the room seemed to lighten considerably and she turned to Erik, a soft, slightly sad smile on her face. She held out her arms to him and he swept her up into his embrace gratefully, burying his head in her curls. "Do you think it will work?" she murmured against the material of his jacket.

He shrugged, loosening his embrace but not fully letting her go. "Although I may not like the Vicomte, he has done nothing to prove himself anything but a man of his word. And as much as it pains me to admit it, he cares for you greatly, Christine." His hand came up to cup her cheek and she nuzzled into the cool leather of his glove. "But not as I do, my dear Christine. He can only dream of the all consuming passion that I feel for you." She smiled up at him, her eyes soft with love. "I can hardly believe my good fortune..." Erik murmured.

"I am not sure how good you will think your fortune if Meg comes storming in here and finds us together," Christine teased, her eyes suddenly gleaming. At Erik's confused stare, she elaborated. "I'm sure that she's been watching my dressing room like a hawk and has seen Raoul exit. If I do not seek her out and tell her everything immediately, she might force herself into our little haven here and discover the truth for herself."

He chuckled. "Little Giry has always been rather headstrong." Christine nodded her agreement and leaned forward to brush her lips against Erik's gently. "I will be watching rehearsals."

She smirked. "Of course you will be. I shall try not to disappoint you, Monsieur Ghost." She curtsied playfully.

He chuckled and bent slightly to kiss her once more. "Just remember what we went over this morning."

"I will. Now, quickly, go and find a hallway to haunt before Meg kicks in that door!" Christine shooed him playfully towards the mirror and he leaned in to steal just one last kiss before stepping through the frame of the mirror. "Come to me, tonight? Here?" she murmured, just before Erik flipped the switch that would cause the mirror to slide back into place.

"Of course," he replied. Christine smiled and the mirror slid back into place. She blew a kiss to it and then went off to find Meg and at least partially sate her dear friend's appetite for gossip.


	6. Epilogue

Notes: Once again, thanks so much for all your kind reviews! I love to hear what you guys think! This is the last chapter in this particular story, thanks for sticking in there with me. :) It's a bit cheesy, but I like my stories with a nice little bow on top, tying up any loose ends.

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Christine smiled softly as she arrived at the mausoleum that housed her dear Papa. She laid her bouquet of flowers down in front of it and sat down carefully on the steps. It was summer now, so different from the last time that she had attempted to come here. "Oh Papa, how I wish you were here. There is so much I wish for you to see."

She glanced back to where Erik was waiting in their carriage. He'd insisted that they make this stop on their way to the docks, before they took off to Italy for their honeymoon and she'd been extremely grateful. The past six months had been so busy at the opera and in her personal life that she'd hardly had time to go to the out of the way graveyard to pay her respects. But she was here now.

"Erik and I are married, Papa. We're on our way to our honeymoon now." She smiled as she fingered her wedding band. "He proposed three months ago and I was more than happy to accept. He is so wonderful, Papa. He loves me very much, as much as he loves his music. I think that you would have liked him, Papa." She paused, considering her words for a moment. "Perhaps not at the beginning. But he has mellowed. He just needed someone to love him as a man and he would act as one."

"I have had my great triumph on stage. Erik's opera was a huge success and the Opera Populaire has already engaged me as their diva next season, they were so impressed with my performance. And Erik will finally occupy Box Five officially, all season, as Diva Daaé's husband instead of the Opera Ghost. He sent his last note as the Opera Ghost to the managers the day after I received my contract. He said that his purpose was fulfilled and he would no longer be haunting the operahouse." She laughed and smiled as she remembered the looks on her managers' faces the next day when she introduced her fiancé to them. "The next day Erik revealed himself as my fiancé and declared he was to be the opera's newest patron. I think the managers were rather leery of him until he said he'd be giving them money...if only they knew it was their money to begin with!"

Chuckling, she covered her face with her hands, and shook her head. "Oh Papa, I know this is probably not the life that you envisioned for me, but...it is so fulfilling. I love Erik very much and I love the stage. Our lives are filled with music and...oh, Papa, it is everything that I could have hoped for."

She gazed up at her former surname, emblazoned across the top of the stone arch. "I know that you are watching me from heaven. I hope that I have not disappointed you." She smiled, gathering her skirts and standing, walking up to the giant gate that separated the tomb from the rest of the graveyard. Wrapping her hands around the bars, she grinned as she thought she could almost hear her papa's violin music playing on the air. "Erik has promised me that he will play your violin for our children, should we be blessed with them. I rather like that idea...I hope you do too."

Her fingers uncurled from the bars and she brought a hand up, kissing her fingertips and softly blowing the kiss towards the inside of the tomb. "I love you, Papa. I will come visit after our honeymoon, I promise." With that she turned and started the trek back to the carriage.

Erik was waiting outside as she approached and he opened the door, helping her inside before following her. She smiled up at him, curling against his side. "Will you come with me next time?" Christine asked.

He looked down at his wife and couldn't help smiling at her. "If you would like me to, I would be honoured to go with you to your father's grave, Christine."

Christine nodded and then nestled against his side, leaning her head comfortably on his shoulder. Her husband was not a knight in shining armour. But he was something so much better. He was her Angel of Music.


End file.
